


Papa, Harry, and Me!

by kurofu



Series: Prompt-Fills [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babysitting, But He's on the Learning Curve, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gratuitously Hot Voldemort, Harry the Protective Babysitter, Keyword: Tries, Kid Fic, M/M, Nagini is Best Child, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Slash, Voldemort Tries to be a Good Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/pseuds/kurofu
Summary: Prompt: Accidental Baby Acquisition!!!!!Before Voldemort can turn her into a horcrux, Nagini turns into a human child, around 1-3 maybe. Voldemort loves her, of course he’d take care of her even if she’s not a snake anymore. Harry helps. Of couuurse, since Nagini used to be a snake, neither of them know if she has magic or if she’s effectively a Muggle. Cue Voldemort dealing with that as well as child rearing. It’s kind of difficult to take over the world too when you’re busy with baby dance classes and feeding and running on only 2 hours of sleep.





	Papa, Harry, and Me!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/gifts).



> [peeks from corner] psst Hey Essa, hey. uh, sorry that this is like [looks at watch] uh _super_ late but um Happy Belated Birthday?
> 
> Beta'd by the supremely awesome Glucose Guardian RedHorse!!

Voldemort sat on his throne, a fist to his cheek as he listened to his followers’ latest spiel. To the outside world, his face was an impassive, impenetrable mask, but in reality, Voldemort was bored out of his bloody _wits_. 

Whoever said becoming a Dark Lord was never boring was lying out of their arse. Yes, the beginning years of his reign were...amusing. Everyone was afraid of him, too much so to challenge him. Back then, he was just a rising leader to the wizarding world, one that executed their will with violence to ensure that it would be seen through. There was opposition left and right, both political and magical. Dumbledore, his annoying nemesis, had managed to round up a group of Light wizards against him. The Order of the Flaming Chickens if Voldemort recalled correctly. 

Those beginning years were when every person in the Order of the Flaming Chickens had the morale and courage to go against him. When every Light wizard from that Order he had met had had a burning passion to defeat his then infantile rule, so sure that at such an early stage it would be so easy to stop. It had been annoying, sure, to duel each and every one of those blasted Light wizards, but now, Voldemort missed the excitement, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the uncertainty of whether or not his rule would truly last. 

But that was back then. Just like shiny crowns losing their lackluster color as time passes, so too did Voldemort grow bored of his own reign. Everyone was afraid of him and too afraid to challenge him. 

It was simply maddening to think that Voldemort would eventually come to hate his younger self for desiring to become the greatest Dark Lord there ever was. If it was possible without creating a time paradox, Voldemort would have gone back in time and throttled some sense into his younger self. 

Honestly, did his younger self actually believe that being a Dark Lord would always be fun and games with hints of _Crucios_ on the side? 

Voldemort leaned back in his throne, the same Death Eater had yet to finish his report. How many pages had this stupid man written? A book? His eyes flickered down to the kneeling follower’s hands, and Voldemort wanted to _die_. 

A bloody tome. His bloody follower had a bloody tome in his hand. Voldemort would be damned if he had to listen to another minute of this, let alone an hour. 

His hand began to tap out an impatient rhythm on the throne's arm, the only sound in the room except for the Death Eater’s ramble and what Voldemort suspected to be some snores. The new sound startled the reporting Death Eater who stared at his lord with his mouth agape as if shocked that his lord would ask him to bloody _hurry up_.

Voldemort only raised an imperious brow at the gall of this lowly Death Eater to presume to know his actions.

The man quickly looked down at the book in his hand, flipping about a good chunk of the tome before starting again. Although this time, he was less confident and stumbled more over his words.

Ah, at least it was the conclusion. The _beginning_ of it—Merlin have mercy.

Voldemort tuned out the man’s incessant babbling, mind bringing forth something that had bothered him for the past two weeks. Nagini had been acting weird lately.

She hasn’t been eating, complained about stomach aches, choosing to lounge around on her warming rock instead of traveling with him. And on her rock, she writhed, as if there was no position comfortable for her. She hardly slept either, her pained moans echoing throughout Voldemort’s chambers, a ghastly lullaby for a monster. 

But as much as a monster Voldemort was, he loved Nagini. Or as much as a monster like him could love. She was family. And Voldemort would be damned if he let her continue to suffer in pain.

Voldemort had ordered Severus into his chambers—taken at wand-point really—and demanded him to find out what ailed Nagini. When he was forced to repeat his question on what exactly ailed Nagini, the potion master’s face had drained of all blood, pale as a virgin’s sheet he was. Voldemort was forced to vow an unbreakable vow to ensure Severus’ life before he could pry the man of Nagini’s diagnosis.

And damn that cunning Slytherin, Voldemort had wanted to strangle Severus the muggle way when he found out there was no known diagnosis for Nagini at all. Normally Voldemort would chuckle at the feat Severus had performed, but not this time. Certainly never with Nagini’s life at stake.

Next he had given Yaxley the same order. The healer, Voldemort was sure, would have a reason for Nagini’s symptoms. But the outcome had been the same. And Yaxley wasn’t as cunning as Severus, so Voldemort, in a fit of rage, held him under the _Cruciatus_. Not too long, however, because even though Yaxley failed to give him a diagnosis, he was still an exceptional healer.

Voldemort was worried, for Merlin’s sake. This bout of sickness Nagini was currently going through reminded him painfully of her mortality. 

The moment the Death Eater finally finished his conclusion, Voldemort stood from his throne, ignoring the man who had fallen backward at his sudden movement. He quickly adjourned the meeting, pushing back the other reports for next time. Voldemort should thank the blasted Death Eater, really, he had had enough time to sort out his thoughts.

And Voldemort finally had a way to cure her of it.

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

Upon entering the wards of his wing, Voldemort was on high alert. Something wasn’t right, his instincts told him so, the coiling serpent within his belly wary with each step he took.

The sound of vases crashing emitted from his chambers. Something thrashing around, making a mess of his rooms. Voldemort quickened his pace, though wary still. Until he remembered that Nagini was in his rooms and Voldemort threw away all calmness into the wind.

His wing was wrapped in layers and layers of charms and hexes. No-one should be allowed in. The wards were keyed to him and him only. His wand was clenched in his fist, outstretched in front of him and his knuckles bone white from the grip, matching the yew wood.

“Nagini!” he cried as he blasted the doors open, but he was forced to shy away, holding an arm to his face when a great bright light flashed in his chambers. “Nagini!”

When the light finally faded, Voldemort was blinking black spots from his eyes, disoriented. He shook his head clear of the lingering bright light in his vision, before snapping his head up in fear.

“Nagini!”

Voldemort stepped into his ruined chambers. The floor was littered with shattered porcelain, the shards lay innocently on the carpeted floor. His bookshelves were destroyed, the books torn from their shelves, landing on their pages, while the shelves themselves splintered. 

“Nagini!” he cried out, nearly begging. :: _Nagini! Please, respond to me,_ please!::

He rounded the corner and he stopped short in his path at the sight in front of him.

There was a baby sitting in the middle of the mess, a wide ring of clear carpet surrounding the child. The baby had black hair and seemed to be of Asian descent, and when their eyes finally saw Voldemort they lit up.

“Maaa!” they cried, tiny hands patting enthusiastically at the ground. “Maaa!”

Before Voldemort knew it, he was on his knees in front of the child, his hands slowly reaching out. The baby caught one of his hands in her own—the baby was a she, Voldemort knew with all the fibers of his being—bringing it to her face. 

“Maaa!”

And Voldemort pulled Nagini into a hug.

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

“Lucius.”

“Yes, my Lord?” The blond lord had been asked to stay behind, his body in a deceptively relaxed state. He had heard from Severus and personally witnessed from Yaxley the mood their Lord was currently in. He swallowed in fear for a moment before quickly wiping any trace of emotion aside from sincerity off his face.

The Dark Lord had his elbows propped up on the desk— _Lucius’_ desk, mind—his hand interlaced to form a fist in front of his mouth, eyes trained on some wood grain pattern in front of him. If Lucius dare says it, he would have said that the Dark Lord was uncertain about something. 

Which was absolutely absurd, because the Dark Lord knew all— 

“Lucius, I am in... _need_ of help on...something that I have no knowledge of.” The great wizard struggled to push the words out of his mouth. It seemed as painful for his Lord to say it as it was for Lucius to hear it. 

“I will attempt to the best of my abilities, my Lord, to fulfill your requests.”

“I would like both you and your wife to come to my chambers tonight. Especially your wife.”

Lucius’ brain stuttered for a moment, shocked at what he had just heard. The Dark Lord’s chambers? Narcissa? Himself? Lucius prayed to Merlin that it was not what he thought it would be; his marriage bed was unable to handle such a thing. “Yes, my Lord. I shall inform Narcissa immediately.”

With a nod, the Dark Lord dismissed him, and Lucius was intent on running away with as much dignity as a Pureblood could. The situation was uncomfortably weird already with a _crucio_ -happy Dark Lord, much less the cryptic request. He had his hand atop the doorknob when his Lord spoke again, halting him in his tracks, and cold sweat began to run down his back.

“Lucius, at what age can a babe eat solids?”

“After half a year, my Lord.” Lucius answered automatically, his mind boggled and skin breaking out into goose pimples. “Good day, my Lord.” And Lucius fled.

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

Harry was thrown up onto grass, knobbly stones digging into his skin. He groaned. What kind of Cup would fling someone to another location? Sure it was a _Wizarding_ Cup, but that doesn’t mean it had to be a portkey. Couldn’t it had been a normal Cup instead?

“Harry...Potter,” an all-too-familiar voice hissed, the voice from his nightmares.

Harry froze, pretending to be knocked unconscious by the rock beneath his head. Yeah, play dead, Voldemort wouldn’t know. Definitely not. 

“ _Potter_.” The Dark Lord sounded annoyed, that wasn’t good. Was his arm twitching or something? He thought he had mastered the art of faking death since his first birthday. “Get up, Potter.” 

Shallow breaths, Harry, shallow breaths. Long, shallow breaths. 

“Do not make me count to three, Potter.”

There was no sound, but those of nature. The chirping of bugs, the rustling of leaves as the wind passed through. Nothing else.

“ _Two…_ ”

The feel of cool, musty air brushing his sweaty fa— 

A stinging hex hit him, and Harry yelped in pain, his body jumping into a sitting position as if electrocuted. “What was that for?!” he hissed, glaring at Voldemort, his hand rubbing the meat of his calves, soothing the radiating pain.

“I said, _get up_ but you didn’t, so you forced my hand.” Voldemort stood above him, face impassive, but the twirling of the yew wand in those slender fingers said otherwise.

“But you said you’d count to ‘three’!” Harry protested. “You skipped ‘ _one_!’”

“The very first time I said my demand was ‘one.’ The ‘three’ needs no warning, but action. Now get up, Potter. I do not have enough time to deal with your foolishness.”

Harry scowled, but hastily got up, backing away as far as he could without taking his eyes off Voldemort. A flash of white caught his eye and Harry fumbled to grab his wand, the wood nearly slipping from his grasp in his haste. He crouched into a fighting stance he’d seen on one of Dudley’s crime shows, his wand in place of a switch-blade.

Voldemort’s face seemed to twitch in disgust, and his nose—nose? 

Harry adjusted his glasses, squinting at the Dark Lord’s face. By Merlin! This wasn’t the snake-faced nightmare of a parasite on the back of Quirrell's head, this was the face of a forty-year-old Tom Riddle from the diary! There was a full coif of dark brown hair, strong arched eyebrows, a straight nose, and thin lips—all in all very human except for the red eyes, not like the monster that haunted his dreams since First Year. 

“Have you never learned how to duel, Potter? Did _Dumbledore,_ ” Voldemort spat the name as if it was a curse, “not teach you the etiquette of dueling?” Harry made to object but was cut off when the Dark Lord waved his hand in dismissal. “Nevermind that, I don’t have time.

“Potter, you are to tell the world that I am back—that _Lord Voldemort _is back,” He seemed to be rushing, his monologue going straight to the point, unlike his speech in front of the Mirror of Erised. The man was pacing, his hands a flurry of motions as he listed off things in rapid succession. “You will tell the world that we met, that we dueled—even if you lack the etiquette. You will tell the papers that you escaped within an inch of your life—”__

____

____

The Dark Lord’s head shot up to the sky and his arms fell to his sides, and there seemed to be a...pout on his face. “It’s time already?” Voldemort whined— _whined!_ —and Harry was beyond concerned. 

He forced himself to close his slacked jaw, his wand having wilted in his loose grip of disbelief. “Um, Voldemort?” Harry hesitated, his hero complex overriding his self-preservation. “Are you alright? You don’t seem to be in your normal Dark-Lord-iness mood.” 

Voldemort whipped his head around to face him, and Harry tried not to flinch when the man marched up to him, stopping only a few steps away. “Alright? Alright?! Lord Voldemort is _not_ alright! Ohhhhhhh…” The man bemoaned, his hands dragging his handsome face down in agony. “I love her, I truly do. She’s my most precious! But she doesn’t let me sleep!” 

All of a sudden, Harry found himself being shaken by Voldemort, his hands curled around Harry’s shoulders in a death grip. “Potter, do you not see? Do you not see the _bags_ beneath my eyes?! Do. You. Not. See?” He punctuated each word with a hard shake, and Harry swore that he saw Dumbledore’s eye-burning stars in his vision. 

Now that Harry had a chance to look at Voldemort closely, he could see bruise-like purple on the handsome face. Harry winced in sympathy because the Dark Lord’s eyes seemed to be a bit bloodshot too. 

“She won’t let me work! She’s not letting me do the things I need to do!” 

Harry nodded along dumbly, allowing Voldemort to vent. It felt strange to be an impromptu therapist. Was this how Hermione felt when Harry came to her about the slimy Slytherins? 

"Oh, _oh..._ She’s calling for me now!” The most fearsome Dark Lord in English history whimpered. “I swear, Potter. It’s not you that will kill me, but my darling will!” 

And with that, Harry was left all alone in the graveyard, flabbergasted and confused. But one thing was for sure: the Dark Lord had gotten himself a lover that even the boogeyman himself would fear. Harry shuddered to think who it could be. 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

Harry closed the front door, turned the two locks in order and then the chain before heading back into the kitchen to continue making himself a cup of tea. It wouldn’t do if Aunt Petunia suddenly came home and found the door unlocked and the tea unmade. 

He hummed to himself a cheery tune as moved around the kitchen, wiping down the already pristine kitchen, waiting for the kettle to whistle. 

All this he did calmly. As if there wasn’t a megalomaniac murderer right outside, standing on the Dursleys’ front steps. As if Harry hadn’t just closed the door on said murderer’s face before they even had the chance to speak. 

“Potter!” Voldemort’s voice was muffled through the wood. “Open the door!” When Harry didn’t answer, the door began to shake violently with the force of the Dark Lord’s pounding. “Open the door before I blast it off its hinges, Potter!” 

“No! I refuse! You’ll kill me!” Harry shouted back, scouring the kitchen for something to use against the Dark Lord. Uncle Vernon had locked his trunk in the cupboard, meaning his wand was in there too. Besides he didn’t want the Ministry to send him a warning of underage use of magic again. 

If you don’t open the door then I _will_ kill you!” 

“See?! You’ll kill me either way!” 

“Potter, just open the damned door!” After a moment of pause, much softer and through gritted teeth, “Please.” 

Slowly, Harry walked towards the front door and unlatched all the locks but the chain. He took a deep breath before opening the door a crack, peeking his eye out distrustfully at the Dark Lord who shouldn't be here. “What. What is it?” 

“I would like to come in. May I please come in?” The Dark Lord gave Harry a winning smile, all bright and charming. Though a bit strained at the edges. “I’ve brought biscuits as a peace offering as well.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes at Voldemort, eyes flickering momentarily to the basket in his nemesis’ hand. What was this? Was the Dark Lord trying to seduce him with cookies? It would never work. Harry scoffed. “No.” 

Voldemort let out a shuddering sigh before looking up to the sky as if for patience. “I, Lord Voldemort, vow that no harm will come to Harry Potter in this house. So mote it be.” 

There was a bright flash, and Harry closed his eyes against it. When he opened his eyes again, Voldemort was...glowing. A layer of gold outlining the man, sprinkles of gold dust dotting the man’s cheekbones like freckles and— _fuck_ there were some on his long eyelashes too, accentuating the red color of his eyes. 

Quickly, Harry shut the door and buried his blushing face in his hands. He shook his head from the image the Dark Lord made, banishing any other unwanted thoughts about his enemy, and unlatched the chain. 

Warily, Harry invited the Dark Lord into the house. 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

“I saw your flyer,” Voldemort finally said, breaking the strained silence of the past twenty minutes. 

Harry choked, prematurely swallowing his bite of biscuit. He thumped his chest in an attempt to clear his airway, bowing over the table, his other hand reaching blindly for his cup of tea. He hissed when a few drops spilled from the jostled cup onto his hand. 

“What...” Harry managed to get out, his mouth and throat on fire. He had forgotten that the tea was fresh off the kettle, still steaming. “My flyer?” He winced at the sound of his voice cracking. 

Voldemort sat across from him, calmly sipping his tea while Harry suffered through his ordeal. 

“Yes, your flyer,” the Dark Lord reiterated, brushing his bottom lip with the rim of the teacup. And Merlin, Harry shouldn't find it as hot as it should be. 

With a grace that Harry envied, the man placed his teacup onto his saucer with barely a _tink_. His once half-lidded eyes staring at Harry directly, red piercing into Harry’s soul. 

Harry stiffened at the attention, straightening himself into a proper position. He sat uncomfortably straight in his chair, ignoring the urge to fidget as the Dark Lord continued to stare at him. Hermione had once told him that vows were personal laws with extreme repercussions. That means Voldemort can’t go against his own word without losing his magic right? 

“W-what—” Harry cleared his throat, flushing, embarrassed by his sudden weak voice. You can do this, Potter! You can do it! This can become a successful business transaction! Even though it _was_ the Dark Lord that was his customer. 

“What service would you prefer?” he tried again. Beneath the table, his hands were shaking, sweaty. Hopefully, Voldemort wouldn’t ask him to do something… weird. 

The man in front of him only raised an inquisitive eyebrow, as if he could read Harry's mind. He couldn't right? There’s no way the Dark Lord could read a person’s mind. 

“You're free today, no?” 

Harry frowned. The Dark Lord had dodged his question. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Dudley was out with his friends at the moment, Uncle Vernon was at work, and Aunt Petunia wouldn’t be home until five in the evening. “Yes, I am,” Harry said tentatively. 

“Consider today as a trial, Potter. If she considers you satisfactory, then we will sign a contract for your services until the end of summer. I will also pay you triple the amount that you are asking as well.” 

Harry swallowed, such a dilemma! On one hand, Harry should say no, because it’s the _Dark Lord_ that’s asking him. On the other hand, the opportunity of having his own income, _money_. 

Before he knew it, his mouth had agreed before he could think it through, and children supplies were placed in his hands and a toddler at his hip. 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

“...So she likes you.” 

Harry looked up to see Voldemort hovering by the sitting room doorway, a blight of black in the Dursley’s colorful room. Was the Dark Lord a vampire? Harry only invited him in once, and now he has unlimited access into the house? 

He looked down at the toddler in his lap and gave her a soft grin. The girl had a slight smile on her face, her body curled towards Harry with her hands tight on his clothes. She had tired herself out after running around up and down the Dursleys’ house, making Harry chase after her. Bless Merlin that the girl wasn’t like the other children he had to babysit. Like becoming a menace and destroying everything in sight with an angelic smile on their face, slowly, deliberately pushing the thousand-dollar vase onto the floor when the babysitter tried to stop them. 

Harry placed his book down and shifted to pick the child up, but was stopped by Voldemort. 

“She’ll wake up if you move her. She’s a light sleeper.” 

Voldemort moved to sit in the armchair across from him. And Harry almost did a double-take at the tenderness on the man’s face. But it quickly shuttered into a hard expression when he noticed Harry staring. 

“Potter, you’re hired. You will be living in my manor, and you will take care of Nagini.” The man’s voice brooked no opposition, his red eyes intense as he stared Harry down into submission. To be honest, Harry felt like he was being given the **Talk,** as in _the_ **Talk** a parent gives to their princess’ attempted suitors. “You will tell your muggle family that you will move in with me for the summer. 

“Do you understand?” 

“Yes sir.” 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

“Harry! Harry! Harry!” 

The door had barely been locked behind Harry when he heard the oncoming rush of tiny footsteps. He smiled and braced himself for the eventual hug, but it still always took him by surprise when Nagini jumped and flew into his arms. 

“Oof,” Harry wheezed out at the impact of Nagini’s hug, her arms squeezing him so tightly that his breath left him. “Nagini, I can’t breathe.” She only shook her head into his stomach, squeezing even harder. “Nagini… I really can’t...breathe.” 

With the lack of oxygen, Harry could barely hold onto his own weight, and he slumped onto the floor, his back leaning heavily on the door. 

Immediately, Nagini released him. She scrambled on top of Harry, her tiny hands cradling his face. “Harry? Harry? Are you okay?” 

When Harry didn’t respond, she began to pat at his face, tiny hands testing his temperature and peeling one of his closed eyelids open. “Harry?” She had a worried expression, how cute, and Harry fought the urge to grin. “Do I have to call Papa? Harry?” 

Nagini began to panic, looking around the room wildly, probably in search for help. Slowly as to not catch her notice, Harry lifted his arms in preparation to strike, fingers curled to better access her ticklish spots— 

Harry curled up in pain, groaning. Nagini’s knee had pushed into his gut, and Harry was seeing stars. 

“Harry! You’re okay!” Nagini latched onto his neck, rubbing her cheek against his. With a sigh, Harry scooped the girl into his arms before standing. She gave him one last affectionate cheek nuzzle before letting out a sharp gasp and wiggling around in his grasp. 

Once on the ground, she turned around to face him, a hand on her hip as she wagged a finger at Harry. “Bad Harry! Bad!” Nagini chastised as if Harry was a puppy instead of a sixteen-year-old boy. “You can’t pretend you’re hurt! If this happens again!... If this happens again…—I’ll-I’ll ignore you forever!” 

With that, the girl harrumphed and crossed her arms, head wrenched away from Harry. Each time Harry tried to apologize, Nagini twisted away, and he resorted to begging on his knees. 

“Nagini, please,” he tried, gazing at Nagini with the most pitiful puppy-eyes he could muster. “I’m sorry; I promise it will never happen again. I would never dare to hurt the world’s most beautiful princess. It was only a joke, milady, nothing more—” 

“Oh? What’s this?” 

A shadow landed atop of Harry. From his position on his knees, Harry had to crane his neck to see Voldemort staring fondly at Nagini who squealed in happiness and hugged the Dark Lord’s legs, no longer pouting. 

“Papa, Papa!” She tugged on Voldemort’s black robes, her face reforming into a tearful pout. What a Slytherin. “Papa, Harry pretended to be hurt! He faked it! He made me waste my tears and com-compashin.” 

“It’s ‘compassion,’ my dear,” The Dark Lord gently corrected, his hand coming to rest upon her black hair, ruffling it. It was a warming sight until Voldemort put his sights on Harry, a curious glint in his red eyes that made Harry shiver. “And is that so, Nagini? Do you remember that storybook I read to you the other night? The one about a boy and the wolves?” 

Nagini nodded her head vigorously, the large bow on her green dress bobbing with the force of her movements. “The Boy Who Cried Wolf!” 

“That’s correct, my dear, and what happened to the boy? Do you remember?” Voldemort stared at Harry as he said this. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck raised and by the way the corners of Voldemort’s lips rose, he was sure his gulp was audible. Harry was treated to a shark’s grin with too many teeth. “The boy was eaten by wolves.” 

As quickly as the threat had came, it left. Voldemort bent down to kiss Nagini on the hair, the girl preening at the attention her Papa was giving her before straightening and summoning his overcoat. 

“Be good, my Darling, and listen to _Harry_.” The way the man’s tongue caressed Harry’s name made him shiver, his blood rushing through his veins in both fear and something else he couldn’t name. “I have a raid tonight to succeed in.” 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

If anyone had told Harry that he would become the babysitter of the Dark Lord’s daughter, he would have laughed in their face before hexing them silly into next week. 

Especially if they said that the most fearsome Dark Lord in Great Britain had a child. 

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who murdered hundreds if not thousands of people and attempted to murder him, the Boy-Who-Lived, had a child? 

But it has already been three years since Voldemort knocked on the front door of the Dursleys’. It has been three years of him living at Voldemort’s manor for the summer. And it has also been three years since he met Nagini, and he absolutely fell in love with the sweet child. 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

Nagini hummed as she lightly kicked her feet, her eyes closed and swaying in tune to an invisible hymn. Every so often she would stop and giggle before resuming again. 

“What’s so funny, Nagini?” Harry asked. He sat behind the girl on the bed, her wet hair in his hand. Using his wand, Harry charmed her hair dry. Living with Voldemort had its perks. Harry could practice his skills and not only that, have access to the Dark Lord’s extensive library and Voldemort’s teaching ability. The Dark Lord was surprisingly knowledgeable in all of Harry’s courses and more, he also taught Harry more than his professor’s ever had. In fact, his Potions grade jumped from [passing] to Exceeds Expectations. 

“Nothing!” Nagini sang, her eyes opened to show their dark color in the mirror in front of them. She grabbed a stuffed snake toy from her pile of plushies on her bed and wrapped it around her neck like a scarf. She played with it, leaning her head towards the snake’s mouth, nodding her head before hissing nonsense back at it. 

“What’s Mr. Slythers saying?” Gently, he parted Nagini’s hair, brushing it smooth before starting to braid her hair. Who knew that Harry’s trivia knowledge of hair-braiding from reading Aunt Petunia’s beauty magazines when he was young would be useful now? 

“His name is _not_ Mr. Slythers, Harry. His name is _Bartholomew_.” Nagini corrected, a pout coloring her voice. “Mr. Slythers is such a very, very...inmature name for my snake.” 

Harry chuckled, slowly weaving the girls long black hair, “The word is ‘immature’. Do you even know what it means?” 

“Yes! It means childish and silly! And I am none of those!” 

“Yes, yes, milady. You’re neither childish nor silly.” 

Comfortable silence fell between them, and Harry found solace in the methodical weaving as he braided Nagini’s hair into a beautiful pattern. Nagini went back to humming, flicking Bartholomew’s tail this way and that. 

“Harry?” 

“Yes, Nagini?” He looked up when the girl didn’t respond. The movement of his fingers slowing until they stopped altogether. “Nagini?” Harry asked concerned. He leaned over to look at what she was looking at. 

He was surprised when tiny hands patted his cheek, directing him to look into the mirror. “Look, Harry, don’t we look a bit the same? We both have black hair and pale-dark skin.” 

They did look similar. Despite her obvious Asian features and a slight yellow in her eyes, Nagini had olive skin and a slight dashing of freckles on her nose. Her lips were a similar shape as Harry’s as well, only a little bit redder. He gave her a noncommittal hum for her observations. 

“I look like Papa as well, don’t I?” 

“Of course you do, Nagini, you’re your father’s daughter.” The girl had Voldemort’s strong eyebrows, his cheekbones, and hairline. Though Harry was a bit puzzled on her train of thought. He nearly choked on air at her declaration, however. 

“Then that means, I’m the daughter of Harry and Papa!” 

Harry flustered, his face flushing so hard that he would have mistaken himself as a Weasley if he stood beside Ron. But it wasn’t as if in private, Harry hadn’t thought of that as well: she was the near-perfect blend of him and Voldemort. As if being plagued with... _dreams_ of Voldemort nearly every night wasn’t enough. 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

“Papa!” Nagini’s voice couldn’t be called a scream per se, but it was definitely a tantrum. “Papa! You promised me! You promised that you would come!" 

"My darling,” Voldemort sighed, his voice stressed. “I know that I promised to come but something important came up. I can’t come to watch you, my dear.” 

“Don’t call me ‘my dear’ or ‘my darling,’ Papa!” She didn’t stomp her foot, she knew better, having been taught proper etiquette from her father. “You said—you said that you would come! You said you would come and see me!” 

“Don’t be so stubborn, Nagini. I have work and cannot come to everything you want me to.” 

Nagini reared back, shock and betrayal clear on her face before her features scrunched up. The tears that she tried to hold back before began to well, but she still refused to let them fall. “Papa! I _HATE_ you! You told me that Papa never lies or breaks his promises! I HATE you! HATE you! HATE YOU!” 

Without looking back, Nagini ran out of the room, blindly running through the manor. She wanted Harry, and she wanted him _now_. 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

Harry looked up, startled at the sudden loud pop beside his ear, dropping his book to the floor. He twisted around in the armchair, nearly falling out of his seat when he leaned over its back. His wand flew to his grip in his wariness, the wood humming in response with his magic. 

Whoever dared to sneak up on him was a fool. Harry was no longer the young, bumbling idiot that knew no spell but ‘ _Expelliarmus_ ,” he had a whole lethal repertoire thanks to the Dark Lord. 

However, his caution was thrown to the wind when he heard sniffling, so quiet that Harry had to strain his ears to hear. There was a hunched ball leaning on the backside of the armchair, arms wrapped over knees and head tucked into them. 

“Nagini?” Harry ventured, voice soft as to not scare the child in front of him as he slowly moved forward. “Nagini, what happened? Who made you cry?” He kneeled down beside her and pulled her into a hug. Nagini unraveled and latched onto his clothes, pushing her face into his neck, and cried. 

“Nagini, tell me who made you cry, I’ll curse them and duel for your honor. Harry’s strong enough to do that.” She shook her head and only cried harder at his words. Did she have such little faith in Harry’s ability to protect her? Sure, he wasn’t the Dark Lord, but he could still stand in his own right. 

He sat there on the floor as he tried to provide Nagini with comfort, contemplating his opponent and cursing them to hell and back for making the girl cry. In the end, Nagini was on his lap, her hands still curled at Harry’s lapels and her face in his neck, but her sobs began to even out. 

“Harry may be strong,” she said, her voice weak and muffled, broken only by hitched breaths, “but I don’t think Harry’s strong enough to go against Papa.” 

Oh. Harry grimaced. So it was the Dark Lord that made her cry. Despite his love for Nagini—he would still fight for her honor, mind—he knew when he was outmatched in power. He just...had to go about it a different way. 

Nagini’s voice brought him out of his plannings, “Papa…” she began, her body wracked from the lingering effects of her cry, her tiny frame shuddering in its intensity. “Papa called me stubborn. He said—he said that I…was being un-unreasonable. Said that I wasn’t listening to him.” 

“He said that?” Nagini nodded into his skin before looking up at him with teary eyes. Something that looked similar to Harry’s own puppy eyes. “Did he say anything else?” 

In an even smaller voice, Nagini confessed, her eyes looking at the ground. “He said that he can’t come...to my recital even after he promised me.” 

And there it was, the bombshell. Harry sighed. “Your father is a bit stubborn and unreasonable as well. Don’t worry, Nagini, I’ll talk to him. I may not be able to fight your father directly, but this I can do. So why don’t I put you to bed and you can take a nap before your big night?” He brushed tears from her eyes and kissed her on the forehead, “Even if your father can’t be there, Harry will, okay?” 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

“You made Nagini cry,” Harry demanded, more a statement than a question, the moment he barged into the Dark Lord’s office. He settled into a chair in front of Voldemort and stared him down. 

“Good afternoon to you too, Harry.” Voldemort sighed, signing an important-looking document with a flourish before meeting Harry’s gaze. 

“You made Nagini cry.” 

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment before his shoulders slumped minutely in defeat. “Yes, I made her cry.” 

“She said you broke the promise you made her to go see her recital.” 

“Yes, I did break it.” The man’s shoulders fell even more, although his face remained a mask. 

“Will it be worth it? Missing your own daughter’s recital for whatever plans you have to advance your world domination? Losing the love and admiration and trust she once had for you?” 

Harry let the man stew in his thoughts because even though this was the greatest Dark Lord of all time, he was also human, a _father_ to his lovely daughter. He let him weigh the consequences of his words, could see the gears turn in the man’s head. 

Because if he chose wrong, not only would he lose Nagini, he would lose Harry as well. 

Despite how much he was attracted to Voldemort—yes, attracted, Harry had long since dealt and unraveled that ball of yarn—he could never forgive a man that didn’t put family first. Their moments of small flirting would also be for naught, their plans for the next level of their relationship now that he was of age would never come to fruition. 

“I…” Voldemort’s mask finally fell, and the raw emotions of sadness, regret, and devastation were plain on his face. “I do not want to lose Nagini.” 

“Then don’t,” Harry said softly, placing his hand on Voldemort’s clenched fist, reassuring him that this would be the correct choice. “Cancel all your plans for tonight. Come see Nagini’s recital. She practiced really hard for you, you know? She always told me that she wanted to show you how well she could dance since you could never make her practices.” 

Nagini’s always understood that the Dark Lord was a busy man. She understood it, that’s why she had never once complained about the absence of Voldemort in her activities—that was why Harry believed that Nagini had a right to be selfish for once. 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

Voldemort’s hand snaked around Harry’s wrist when he meant to leave. His face was earnest in the way he looked at Harry, his red eyes searching for _something_ in his gaze. 

“Harry, I—” the Dark Lord cut himself off, he looked away. 

“Yes?” Harry sat back down in the chair, but Voldemort hadn’t let go of his wrist yet. 

The man swallowed before he tried again, “How... did you deal with your friends’ hate?” 

A pained smile crept on Harry’s face. Ron had felt betrayed when he had found out that he had been living with the Dark Lord and babysitting his child. He saw Harry’s summer job as a fraternity with the Dark, and he blamed Harry for not putting up a fight like the Light’s Savior should. Ginny had felt the same, but she told Harry that she could understand his actions. After all, she had been seduced by the diary and manipulated; she could recognize the Dark Lord’s charm. 

Harry understood their sudden aversion towards him so he gave them space. He would have felt the same way as them too. The Boy-Who-Lived destined to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named should be scrounging ways and learning the deep dark past of the villain to use against them, not playing house with them. But Harry _was_ the Boy-Who-Lived, and he wasn’t doing the things a savior should be. 

Unsurprisingly, Hermione became the mediator between him and Ron. Harry had confided to her once that he wished for a family, a family for him to love and be loved in return. A family for him to call his own. He loved his friends, he truly did, but he loved Nagini even more. 

Hermione had immediately understood his reason for “fraternizing with the Dark Lord” when she met Nagini. Harry had brought her with him to Fortescue’s, a secret trip and a secret treat for the delighted girl, Voldemort having declared that Nagini shouldn’t be spoiled with sweets. Hermione had been horrified when she found out that her philosophy on sweets matched Voldemort’s, and Harry had laughed at her expression like the best friend he was. 

Dumbledore had looked equal parts disappointed and proud when he heard the news, but he only gave Harry a smile and an invitation to his office whenever he needed it. 

“Don’t worry, if you do this right, Nagini won’t hate you.” 

**🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍** | **🐍**

Nagini had been overjoyed when she saw Voldemort sitting in the seats beside Harry. The girl was dressed fit for a ballet queen, the only one in silver and a crown. 

Voldemort had been delighted when he heard that Nagini was the main dancer, his face beaming with pride and his chest slightly puffed. And if one looked closely at the Dark Lord’s face during the production, Harry swore that there were tears in his eyes. Harry would have teased him for being such a bloody Hufflepuff if he wasn’t proud himself. 

__That night, Voldemort had treated the three of them to ice cream after dinner. Apparently, the man avoided sweets because he loved them too much, and he didn’t want his image as a fierce and cunning Dark Lord to be ruined. Harry made a note of the Dark Lord’s sweet tooth for the future because he knew he could make a mean cream pastry for Voldemort in the future._ _

__Nagini had dragged both he and Voldemort by the hand to tuck her in goodnight. She sweetly asked Voldemort to read to her and her plushie friends a tale from Beadle and the Bard, Bartholomew held tight in one hand and Harry’s hand in her other. And Voldemort could do nothing but comply as his darling fluttered her eyelashes and called him “Papa” in that most charming, angelic voice of hers._ _

__When at last the girl was lulled to sleep by the baritone of her father’s voice, Harry dimmed the room until the bright stars in the ceiling twinkled in the dark. He kissed her and Bartholomew goodnight before closing the door behind him._ _

__In front of Harry stood Voldemort who had a silly smile on his face, staring wondrously at the hand that Nagini had held onto the whole night, turning it this way and that as if the limb was a miracle._ _

__Feeling a surge of Gryffindor bravery, Harry pecked a chaste kiss to Voldemort’s cheek before running away as dignified as he could with a blushing face. Before he turned the corner, Harry peeked behind him and he suppressed a giggle._ _

__Voldemort had a dumbfounded look on his face, a hand to the very same cheek Harry had kissed as he turned to where Harry fled. Harry gave him a smile and a quick wave before running back to his room._ _

__Tomorrow will be a good day, Harry was certain. And the day after that and the day after that one._ _

**Author's Note:**

> All hail, Queen Nagini, first of her name, Princes of Slytherin, Champion of Snakes, and the Cutest of Them All! 
> 
> Also, sidenote, since Nagini's Horcrux was created around when Harry was in 2nd to 3rd year, and there wouldn't have been any gratuitously hot Voldemort at the time. This is definitely not canon compliant.
> 
> Voldemort was revived with either the locket or the cup, that's why he looks hot.
> 
> Come poke me and say Hi on [Tumblr](https://coffee-teacup.tumblr.com/)!


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